


The Here and Now

by azephirin



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Comment Fic, Consent, F/M, First Time, Frottage, Future Fic, Genetic Engineering, Porn Battle, Quotations, Safer Sex, Snark, Terminal City, Writing, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-16
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Do not wait...Do not long for it.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Here and Now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/)'s Porn Battle; I posted an abridged version [here](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/395384.html?view=23399544#t23399544), but the full version is below. Title, cut text, and summary from a quotation attributed to Marcel Proust. Thanks to [](http://cormallen.livejournal.com/profile)[**cormallen**](http://cormallen.livejournal.com/) and [](http://katomyte.livejournal.com/profile)[**katomyte**](http://katomyte.livejournal.com/), enabling enablers that they are, for egging me on.

He can't see her, but he can smell her. They're not even on the same block—he's at the command center, she's at home—but the need calls to him like she's right here saying his name. _Now, now, please, now, Alec, Alec, please—_

He grits his teeth and ignores it. Tries to, anyway. No one else seems affected, not even the other X5s. He thinks maybe they're just covering it well, but then Marcel looks over at him with nothing but mild concern and says, "Hey, you OK, boss man?"

_I'm fine, and I'm not your fucking boss, and who the hell picks a name like Marcel, anyway?_

"Golden," says Alec, through teeth that he tries to keep ungritted. He suspects he doesn't succeed. And he actually is kind of the boss man here (they call Max "boss lady," mostly affectionately), and how the Christ did that even happen? "Why?" Alec adds.

"You just look kind of sweaty. Like you're running a fever or something." Which is saying a lot, because they were, of course, designed never to get sick.

"Can you hold things down here?" Alec says. "I...have to do an errand." He'll visit Joshua, go for a run, take his bike and go for a ride, something—anything.

"Sure, no problem."

Alec picks up jacket and messenger bag, then turns as an afterthought. "How'd you get named Marcel, anyway?"

"Oh," says Marcel, looking surprised, "it's after a writer. From a long time ago. He said something that seemed sort of appropriate for all of us."

"Yeah?"

"'Do not wait for life. Do not long for it. Be aware, always and at every moment, that the miracle is in the here and now.'" Marcel shrugs. "I just always liked that."

_Alec, Alec, please—_

He's never touched her like that. It's not how they are; they stay carefully platonic; it's better for them and for everyone—

_Do not wait...Do not long for it._

"That's pretty good," Alec says.

He doesn't go see Joshua, but he does run.

She's standing in the doorway when he gets there, feet swift on the stairs to her apartment. Her hair is a wild cascade around her shoulders, and he can see the darkness of her pupils, nearly swallowing the iris; can hear her frantic quick pulse; can feel the temperature of her skin as though it's coming off her in waves. _Please, please, please—_

He steps back. He can't. She doesn't really know what she's doing. He'll find her a sedative, let her knock herself out like usual until it passes—

She yanks him inside and slams the door. "Look on the table," she says, dropping her hands to her sides. Her knuckles are white, fists in knots, and he realizes she's holding back just as much as he is.

He looks. There's a glass of water, placemats—and a sheet of paper with writing on it. On closer inspection, it's clearly her own.

_Alec: Tomorrow I'm going to go into heat. I'm not drugging myself or heading out of town this time. If you're reading this, you can leave, but I'd rather you stay. I mean this now, and I'll mean it later. —Max._

He stares up at her. She stares back. She's trembling, but she doesn't move. "Go if you want to," she manages. "But don't just stand here where—where I can smell you."

"Max," he says, helpless. He drops the paper on the table and his bag to the floor, and she has him pinned before he even hears it fall.

+||+||+

 

They almost don't make it to the bed. She's got him against the wall, and his hands are on her hips, stripping off her shirt before he realizes it's gone. She's got nothing on underneath, and the points of her nipples are the next logical path, inviting his fingers as she pulls his head down, grasps his hair to the point of pain to kiss him, lick his mouth open as her nails sting his shoulders. He rolls them and lifts her, and she pushes the jacket from his shoulders and then tugs at his sweater with urgent, fumbling hands. He takes it off, throws it to the side, and she bites the tendon at the base of his neck, tightens her legs around his hips. She's wearing jeans, regular clothes, but he can still feel her hot through them. His cock knows immediately where it wants to go, and he thrusts hard against her, once, twice, and she shudders—

"Did you just come?" he asks, rough, and she nods and bites her lip like she could do it again right now. Which she probably could. "Let me get these off you," he says, and she gets to her feet. They don't try to undress each other the rest of the way: It's faster like this. He wants to be able to look at her naked in front of him, the sleek form of her, the flawless caramel skin, the dark pink nipples, the mysterious shapes of the runes. He wants to drop to his knees and learn whether she tastes as good as she smells (he suspects yes), but she wraps a hand around his cock and suddenly he's got her up against the wall again. Her legs are around him, and he's there, one push and he'll be inside her—

And he pulls back and gasps, "Condom."

She drops her head onto his shoulder. "Fuck."

"Well, yeah, Maxie, that's the goal."

There's a glare, but it's not sustained—she's too distracted. "Bedside table. Come on." With apparent effort, she disentangles herself. The few feet to the bedroom feel like a mile.

True to her word, there's a box of condoms, unopened, sitting right on the nightstand. Something occurs to him, and despite his desperation and frustration and the fact that he's harder than he's possibly ever been in his life, he can't help grinning at her. "You planned this, didn't you?"

She tears open the box and takes out a small plastic packet. "I wrote you a damn consent letter, asshole. You think I couldn't buy some condoms?"

They're not the easiest things to find in TC—you either pay on the black market or have a connection on the outside. No matter what, it requires some advance work.

She pushes him onto the bed, rips the packet open, and rolls the condom over his cock. She's barely touching him, but he arches up into it. She pushes him back down and her hands find his wrists. He moans as she sinks onto him. She's wet, slick, and he watches her eyes fall closed as she stretches out over him. Her hips are rolling and the pace is maddening—he wants to flip her over and fuck her until she's screaming and biting, but all he can do is lie here as she rides him at her speed. Her hair falls down around his face, and her small breasts are so close; he could reach up and touch them, lick them, if she weren't holding him down. Could rub her clit, make her come again, around his cock this time. He gives in. "Max, please. I want to touch you so bad. Please."

She lets his wrists go and sinks down to kiss him, hands cupping the back of his head. He does turn them over then, and she gets out a "Bastard!" before he angles down to suck her hard, tight nipples. She whimpers, thrusting up involuntarily, and he gets his fingers between them and finds her clit. "Oh God," she gasps. A few gentle strokes—she's so hungry, so sensitive—and he can feel the orgasm shudder through her, interior muscles fluttering against his cock. He presses his lips over hers and starts fucking her in earnest, drinking the cries from her mouth. She drives him in harder with legs around his thighs, and the sharp bite of her nails in his back is the perfect counterpoint to the liquid heat of her around him. She breaks their kiss and he feels her teeth in his shoulder: "Harder!" He's not sure that's possible, and yet somehow it is, and she comes apart again, stuttering out his name, scoring his skin with her marks. It pushes him over the edge, too, and he empties himself into her, head thrown back as his vision goes white with a rush that doesn't seem to end.

He's pretty sure his brain shuts off for a few seconds after that.

When he returns to himself, he's collapsed on top of her, his face buried in the softness of her hair and throat. Her arms are around his shoulders and he could do nothing but lie here for a few hours. That would be fine. He makes himself roll away to dispose of the condom; then he rolls back and gathers her up against his chest, tracing the length of her spine. She's breathing in little whimpery pants, but they slowly even out. She looks up at him, and he kisses her sweaty hairline and smiles at her most likely like a huge idiot.

She looks, unaccountably, worried.

"It's not going to end there," she says quietly. He cocks an eyebrow at her for elaboration. Her eyes flicker away, and she adds, "I mean, I'll be OK for a while, but in a couple of hours, it's going to happen again. So you should—you should go now if you want to."

"Maxie," he says, "I'm offended. You think I won't be able to get it back up after a couple of _hours_?"

Her annoyed glare is the one he knows so well.

He moves onto his back and pulls her with him, settling her head on his shoulder. "I figure we should probably eat something while we have the opportunity. Keep our strength up. Then—well, let's see. I haven't gone down on you yet, and I sure as hell wouldn't say no if you wanted to do it to me. There's a table out there I haven't bent you over, and a shower we haven't done it in, and all kinds of other things, so I don't know why you think that was the end."

There's something soft in her face, but he doesn't call her on it. "I don't need to eat right this minute," she says. "Can we just rest for a little bit?"

He strokes her hair, thick and soft between his fingers. "Of course we can," he says. "Of course we can do that."


End file.
